Children are children no matter their structure, beauty, handsomeness, ugliness, disability, naughtiness and what have you. In this vein, they have the rights to be specially protected and cared for. They have the rights to be fed, clothed, health insured and to associate with parents and humans in general. They also have the right to be sent to school. All these are clearly stated in constitutions of many states. And all these are devoid of gender, race, ethnicity, nationality, religion or colour. In fact, a child must be physically, mentally and emotionally well catered for. There must be no forced labour where these children are concerned because they do not ask us to bring them into this life.

In this regard people always want to know who a child is. Many states define juveniles as children under the ages of 18. That leads me to my problem with the maltreatment of children especially those who are disabled.

I have been to many places in Ghana. Whenever I walk around cities and villages and I see children under the ages of four (mostly twins) or children who are disabled sitting by the road side, sometimes under the scorching sun, other times in the drizzling rain, my heart bleeds. That to me, is the hardest labour a child can be made to go through. How can a child who knows nothing be subjected to such cruelty? Do we know what these children can become in the future? Is the fact that a child is disabled the reason to deprive that child of his or her right to education and subject him or her to this mockery and labour?

Parents sometimes forget that what they do for their children today is what they become in future. Yes they are what we grow them to be. SO WHEN YOU MAKE YOUR CHILD AN OBJECT OF RIDICULE THAT MUST BE AT THE MERCY OF HUMANS NOW, HE OR SHE CAN BE NOTHING ELSE IN FUTURE BUT AN OBJECT AT THE MERCY OF OTHERS. We see very handsome and fine young men and women who are autistic and roaming the streets doing nothing. These young adults who were child-beggars happen to lose their ‘adorability’ and their traits of sympathy, so they get nothing from the public and become nuisance to the society. You can say that most of them end up being societal deviants.

In the northern region of Ghana, they attribute it to a belief system where spiritualists tell mothers of sick children that their children’s hearts want them to beg or they (the children) will die. So the children are paraded around in sympathetic clothes to attract sympathizers. I still find it difficult twisting my mind around this problem. So people must degrade themselves to beg in order to keep their children alive? And they are willing to beg and keep the ‘futureless’ children with them until they become dependent adults?

Now let me go right through to the disabled who can reason better than people without disabilities. Why will such children be made beggars when they can go through the educational system and become independent and responsible adults? What wrong have they committed that they have to go through the humiliation of societal dependency throughout their lives on earth? We do not plant seeds knowing the fruits they will bear but whatever it is the plants give us, our sorting will help us get something to feed on at the end of harvesting. What I am saying is that, humans are humans and every child devoid of disability can be a great person in future, so we must cherish what we have now and think of ways of shaping their lives so we can be proud of them in future. A child may be a little autistic today, but a little patience, love and care can make that child important in the near future.

Those who hide behind the clothes of poverty to deprive their children of education in modern Ghana should be ashamed of themselves because we have the Free Compulsory Universal Basic Education (FCUBE) which takes care of finances from childhood to Junior High School (JHS). Although there are a few things that must be purchased, a very determined parent will make sure to provide those needs no matter what. Why don’t you make that child an object of sympathy after he or she attains very good grades at the JHS level? I know some Good Samaritans will help them climb the educational lather and all will be worth it.

Children know nothing, children do not understand poverty, children do not know what disability is about, children just learn of being shunned with time in this universe. Please help children be children, help children go through their initial stages of life happy, comfortable and disciplined in order to be responsible adults in future.

The heart is a very unfathomable machine I must say. Falling in love requires no permission even from the other organs of the body. The heart gets addicted and the mind plays tricks by offering sanity and endorsement. The love that broke my heart recently was the love I felt and still feels for a girl. No, do not get me wrong, I am not a lesbian. I am just a teacher who loves seeing her students do well, especially, her female students. It is a fact that many villages in the North have people who have funny mentalities; that the girl is someone else’s future property. Ultimately ‘why would they waste precious money on such beings’ become their questions so they ignore their female children. The few who are a bit educated and send their female wards to school lose hope when those children become pregnant.

Many people do not respect the teaching profession. But it is a very noble profession which requires a person to be humane, patient, observant, approachable, loving and caring and most importantly have the ability to listen. When you are a teacher and you give your all to your profession, you do not only get to love your job, but you fall in love with your students. A kind of motherly love that makes you want to protect them against all the hurdles they may encounter if possible. If you have ever had a child, then the love I am talking about is not new to you. That kind of motherly or fatherly love. That is why you get a severe broken heart when a child has to drop out of school because she got pregnant in a developing world like ours. You think about the future of the child and the hurdles she would have to bridge.

As a house mistress, you feel worse! As though everyone has seen that you did not do your work of protecting the child who was left under your care. I experienced it recently and it was not a good experience. It is that horrible feeling that you have to experience before knowing its intensity.

There has been a lot of publicity for years on end about the need to send the girl child to school, but what are we doing to keep them in schools? What are we doing to make sure that mortality rate among teens who fall victim to abortions due to fear of their parents and societal castigations cease? What are we doing to help these girls complete their education without pregnancy drama? Is getting them into the classroom all it will take for them to be responsible adults? To tell you the truth, I stayed in bed for three days after sending off one of my girls because she got herself pregnant. Yes, I stayed in bed, feeling lost, dejected and horrible. I knew broken heart not through being jilted by a man, but by the thought that I was not able to protect someone who was left under my care.

Now some suggestions are coming up as to how it should be dealt with, I hear the male students who get their peers pregnant will be shown the exit with them. But what about those who get pregnant by men and not students? How do we stop our girls from being lured into sexual intimacies with little things like fried rice and chicken or soft drinks? What can we do when the students’ population cannot be managed by inadequate staff? What can we do to stop the imagination of our girls from running wild in this technological age?

I feel like year in and year out, we have more stubborn children coming through the school system. They get more difficult to handle by the year. What are we going to do about the headache of deteriorating discipline and hard work among the younger youth? It saddens my heart to know that much attention is not given to tending to the girls from all backgrounds to sail through the educational system smoothly after getting them there.

If you had the time to read this, take a moment to ponder over this issue and stop a girl from a senior or junior high school whenever you meet her, and give her some words of advice and encouragement or think about how you can make her world of education a better place. Thank you.

Ama Krobea sits in her comfortable sofa, looks around her and thinks how perfect life will be if she has a man to call her own. What will she want that man to do for her? This self-questioning which always leads her into fathom fantasy and anticipation must stop, she thinks, then again, what fun there will be in life if she bars this sweet visions from her life? Now back to her question, she would be very happy if that man will sweep as she cooks, if that man empties the bin while she does the dishes, if that man gives her a foot massage when she comes back from work tired, if that man hugs her tight and says sweet nothings in her ears when she is cold and feels needy. It will be nice if that man kisses her when she is so angry for nothing and starts spewing her nonsense. Where could this man be?

She just lifts her phone and goes through her social networks. Who is this guy who is sending her flirty messages? She goes through his timeline and views his photographs. He has such manly features according to his pictures and he looks so good. Ama decides to play along. She responds to his flirty messages and gets excited with time.

Who is knocking on her door when she is deep into her conversation with her internet lover? She ignores the bell and goes on with her conversation online. “This person will not go away, let me see what this person wants” she blurted out loud. She opens the door and disappointingly exclaims “Oh, it is you Opoku” Opoku forces himself in and asks her if she was expecting anyone? She asks him to leave because she was busy. He tells her to call him when she is less busy because he has something to discuss with her. Ama could not help but blurt out:

“What can you tell me that you’ve never told me before? That you love me and you want us to be a couple. I’ve already told you that I do not want to have

anything to do with you. You’re simply not my type, just a friend, which is all you are, so leave me in peace once and for all”

“But Ama, what more do you want? I am handsome, tall, I love you to bits and will do everything you want, what more do you want?” Opoku said exasperatedly.

“You did not mention the fact that you have that “alatsa” vehicle. Just leave”

She pushes him out and locks her door. “Look at this man oh, just because I play with him, he thinks he is my co-equal. I should go out with a man who gives out cheap flowers and takes me cheap restaurants with his tightly tucked in shirt.” She thought and goes back to her chatting.

Another knock on her door and she gets ready to slap the hell out of Opoku only to come face to face with Martha.

“Why? Did you sleep on the wrong side of the bed? Why are you ready to murder me?” Martha gasped.

“I am sorry, I thought it was Opoku”

Martha makes herself comfortable and says her peace on the Opoku issue. She tells Ama to be very calm and think about the advantages of dating and eventually marrying Opoku. She tell her he is very handsome but Ama does not allow her to land and cuts her advice short by saying that he looks weak, does whatever she says and so lacks dominance which means he cannot be in charge when the need arises. He allows me to dump the refuse and wash the dishes at the same time while he watches television in my house. Why will I go out with someone whom I do not like?

Martha asks her if she is really sure she will want to be in the shoes of her dream man?

“How will you feel as a man when your peers see you emptying the trash can or washing dishes? What will you do when your peers chose to make you the object of cowardice? Just try and be calm, and think about it well, relationships is about ego trimming. Men are known for their egos but women too have egos. When trimming of the ego happens, we have what we call compromise. And a good relationship must have parties who know this” Martha added.

Ama, asks Martha to go and tell the bush fowls to come back home and live with fowls at home as they are their brothers if you know how to give critical advise. With that, Martha shuts up.

Four weeks later, Desmond asks for her home address in order to visit her. She gladly gives it and waits for the visit. She cleans her house, prepares assorted foods and makes sure everything is in order. Desmond calls with a condition. He has a surprise for her so she should close her eyes before opening the door and never close her eyes until he tells her to. She anticipates what it is that Desmond wants to give her; could it be a car? Could it be and expensive watch? What could it be?

The car stops in front of her house and she opens her door with her eyes closed. Desmond encircles her in an embrace.

When she opens her eyes, she experiences an intense ache in her head. Her head was so heavy and she looks around only to see what looks like the structure of her room only in a very empty form. She forgets about her pain and looks around only to see her house empty, not even a needle can be found, even the shower cap is gone. All her clothing, furniture, everything is gone. She looks at what she is wearing and realises that she has even been raped. She gets out and calls on her neighbour and tells her she has been robbed. Her neighbour told her she saw the car there but thought she consented because she saw her hugging the guy. She borrows her phone and tries to call Desmond’s number but she wasn’t sure of the number. She logs on her neighbours internet network and tries to get in touch with him on the internet and his account had been closed. She starts crying. But what am I to do? She asks herself. When the police interview her, she loses the ability to put words together as to what really happened.

She cries silently in her room until a thought occurs to her to call Opoku. Opoku’s number tells her he is out of coverage area. And she hears from Martha that Opoku married someone from her area and travelled with her abroad. She tells herself, had I known, is always at last.

It’s almost 3am as I write this letter and I’m standing outside in the cool predawn breeze and the half moon shining in the sky and serenaded by Atlantis Radio.

This is bliss you might think. But the reason why I’m outside is because I have no lights at home. The phase went off again and this time the young man who fixes it changed his line onto the other phase so now it’s inevitable that every time it happens we will sleep in the dark till those workmen in their air-conditioned car from the electricity company find it fit to come fix it.

But Kpakpo I found some shop front with a socket barely 50m from my house so I’ve brought out the tablet and plugged in sharing the night with the coughing goats (did you know savanna goats cough like humans?) and the mosquitoes.

Once upon a time, there lived a very humble girl called Antobam. She lived with her step mother and father. Antobam’s mother died while giving birth to her earning her the name Antobam transliterating not meeting parent or parents. Her stepmother despised her and made her do all the house chores. She slept in the dusty kitchen with the ants, cockroaches, mice and rats. Because she was a good girl, the cockroaches, ants, mice and rats protected her instead of harming her. Her father could not protect her because he feared his wife Okom.

Her stepmother gave birth to four boys after her and in addition to the one boy she brought to the house as Antobam’s step brother. One day, she was sleeping in the kitchen in the night when Bediako, her step brother came in and raped her. She told her father about it in the morning but he was not able to do anything about it. In the Village of Tanoso, any girl who got pregnant before marriage was banished.

Three months after the incident, the whole village of Tanoso realized Antobam was pregnant. The chief of the village called Mr. Abronoma and his daughter to face the court of the village. She was found guilty of breaching the laws of the land and was immediately banished. Bediako denied raping her and was spared because of lack of evidence.

Antobam’s father gave her a gourd of water, some food and sent her on her journey with tears streaming down his face shamelessly.

Antobam feared her shadows in the evil forest. She feared the sounds of the village and the deep darkness. She prayed to the gods of her fathers and dead mother to provide her with light and rid her of fear. After some time, the moon came smiling down at her, paving the way for her eyes to lead her through.

She was filled with happiness and contentment. But a roar from the bush sent her sprawling down a mountain of rocks. She fainted only to wake up in a huge bed. There were three people sitting by her bedside. She was startled, pinching herself to wake up from her perceived dream only to feel the pains of her nails. She asked where she was and was told that she had a miscarriage. She cried, and asked how she came to be there. She was told she was found in the forest by the prince who went hunting in the deepest forest.

She was baffled to see the handsome prince who sat on her bed with worry written all over his face. He later arranged for her to be tutored after hearing her story. She became the princes’ wife and later became the wisest queen of Apemso.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years when hunger and his wife thirst visited all villages except Apemso. Many people from far and near came to Apemso for food and water. She went to the place where they were selling the food and saw her father and four brothers battling to be in the cue. They were very happy to see her. She asked about her stepmother, Okom, and was told she had become a sickler. She was also told Bediako was eaten by a lion who just surfaced in their house the day she left the village.

Antobam, who was now called Ohemaa Serwaa Ampaafo asked some of her men to bring her wicked stepmother to Ampemso to be fed and well taken care of. When her brothers asked why she was doing that, she told them forgiveness the most divine thing on earth. She advised them to take a cue from her story and learn to forgive easily as forgiveness does not only free the mind but also makes the soul grow. She lived with her biological family and her new family happily ever after.

My father was the very best friend of the chief of our village and so wielded so much power. Our household was one of the most important in the village and many people would die to marry someone from my home. But no one wanted to marry me. They thought I was either too short or too ugly. I did everything I could to be beautiful enough to attract suitors to no avail. My only consolation was that I was good academically.

I had two sisters and three brothers. I was the fourth of six children from the same parents although my father had three wives. My first crush was a farmer; slim and tall who loved holding his gun in his left hand and his machete in his right hand while clothed in dirty long sleeved shirt and trousers. He was a very dark man, strong with a sparkly white neatly arranged set of teeth. But ours was not to be as he picked one of my elder sisters as his bride. I was devastated, I cried and feigned sickness for over three months. I did not take part in their marriage ceremony and developed an unfair hatred for my brother in law who knew nothing of my feelings for him. He always tried to be nice to me but I shunned his company. I was happy when Brother Abdulai’s mother requested he migrated with his new bride to her village to oversee her farms because she was growing old. Maybe the words “out of sight, out of mind” may have some truth to it, because with time, I found myself having no thoughts of Brother Abdulai, neither did I have that dreadful heartache whenever my sister Larki’s name was mentioned.

The chief, Sagbonwura Naa Kampaya was a very kind man. He was always nice to me. So nice that I found myself drifting to the land of daydreams whenever his thoughts crossed my mind. Once, I was walking around my father’s house in just a piece of cloth. I turned around coyly and met Naa’s intense gaze. He just looked at me and smiled and beckoned me into his arms. He embraced me and asked, why have I not seen this beautiful you? You are so pretty, so much so that I will have to marry you and treat you better than all my wives. I thought that was the most romantic scene ever and wanted that to happen in reality. But too bad, it was all in my fantasy. It was a funny feeling, because the chief was older than my father. He was about sixty five years old while I was twenty four. When I could no longer bear it, I told Naa about it but he candidly but kindly told me not to have those fantasies about him. He told me that he was so flattered but loved me too much to waste my life that way. He assured me that I would get a husband who will love me and care for me in the near future and advised that I desist from thinking of marrying someone whose life is almost over. I felt broken hearted once more but it was not as painful as the first one. The way Naa said it made me hopeful.

I know you may think I was not that old, but for a woman to be 24 years without any prospective suitor during that time in Sagbon meant the woman was too cantankerous or ugly. And I would have preferred to be the former than the latter. By the time I turned 25 years, I had completed training college with the help of a government scholarship and the encouragement of my father. My mother died when I was 15 but my father’s wives replaced her. My father had over twenty children who were either interested in farming or fishing. Only one of my elder brothers and myself were interested in education. My sisters never took any interest in education. My father encouraged me despite the fact that most men thought educating a girl was preposterous. This was because he thought I at least needed to be able to take care of myself in the future if it so happens that I end up with no husband. Not that he told me in plain words, he was talking to one of his kinsmen but my eavesdropping made my ears the sad hearer of his view.

I was posted to Nsawie Basic School for my national service. I went there expecting my fate to change where marriage was concerned. And yes, I got a fine man who said he was interested in me. I sent money home often but I still had money because I was not extravagant. This man only visited when he wanted money. Sometimes he would come there three times and then ask for money on the fourth day. I gave him everything he wanted because I knew I had nothing where beauty was concerned. He promised to marry me but that was not to be as he finally wedded a very beautiful woman from Nsawie. That day, I felt like killing myself. I was so sad that I could drink poison without a thought. Then I met a dedicated Islamic woman who exuded peace.

Mma Meimunatu was that woman whose smile could calm every storm in every life. She assured me that everything will be okay and that I will find a good Muslim who will marry and cherish me. Mma advised me to think of myself as beautiful and to have the confidence because I was beautiful. She even said that being tall is not a good feature in women and that very tall men loved very short women. I nearly believed her but for the mirror in my room that told me to look at reality.

My very eldest brother died when I was 27 years old, the next one died the following year and my father followed that same year. I was devastated. My eldest sister; Harina, came from her husband’s village and so did Larki. Our only brother who had married a Nigerian to the detriment of my family also came. The funeral was a sad one. No one died in Sagbon without a superstition hovering around him or her. I heard that, the spirit that made me short was killing the good men in my family. How could such an intelligent lady be that short and ugly. I also heard that, the women in the family were witches and were killing them one after the other so that we could become the men of the house. An old lady, Mma Amina, who was over hundred years old was also purported to have been killing the young ones in order to stay alive.

My sisters and I were not happy so we consulted an oracle who told us that one of our father’s brothers was killing the men who may be a hindrance in his quest to be the sole heir of our grandfather’s properties which included two compound houses and many plantations of cocoa. My only brother who migrated to Accra with his wife failed to return home after that for fear of being driven to his early grave. I transferred to Sagbon Secondary School as a Catering teacher. The grown students made fun of me with some calling me “kakapuipui” and others just making fun of me, but I endured.

One sunny day, a man who was 15 years my senior met me and proposed instantly. I did not know what to say. I had given up on marriage a long time ago. At first, I thought he was making fun of me, then I realized he was serious when he asked me to send him to my family for the marriage rites. Before I realized what was happening, I was married to this gentleman. He had a wife and four children who despised me. I stayed in their family house for three years while constructing my own and bore all the maltreatment they could mete out. Unfortunately for me, I was told that I would not be able to give birth because of my height. My husband was not disturbed, I reckoned it was because he already had children. I was very sad because I was being called all sorts of names: Childless Shorty, Ugly Doo and many others. I resolved to move into my house and my husband decided to move in with me.

But problems started as my sisters started fighting because of their children. I was not interested in their problems so called our only brother to help resolve the issue. He did not mind me and his tone gave signals of not wanting to be disturbed. I sent a delegation to his house hoping he would heed to the call of his roots, but his Nigerian wife sacked them. Those who went claimed he had been bewitched by his wife. They even brought a message from his wife that I should never send the food items I send occasionally to her house again because she believed I had evil intentions towards her husband. It dawned on me, the possibility of my brother’s Nigerian wife thinking his Ghanaian Husband’s sisters were witches.

I resolved never to bother him again and to be the man of my family. I had money and prestige, I even had a husband so my voice was heard. But there is a saying that “the cock may dance with flair in the midst of hawks but they will never see it as anything other than food” my luck changed when many men came to my house one afternoon wielding machetes and sticks. I climbed into one of my small pans and came out when all was calm to see my poor husband in his pool of blood. I came out shouting only to be caught, shaved and brought to this witch camp. My sisters looked on, shaking their heads in awe and hooting at me, I heard nothing, I only saw their faces and decided to close my ears. There was nothing to live for. My husband was dead and my sisters did not need me, they thought the worst of me. My husband was not young, he may have married me for the security of his old age, but he loved me, loved me enough to have stood up and died rather than telling the people where I was.

And so brethren, there is the story of my life. The story about my life and the love of my life.